He said quietly, “Forget things, Judith. Just try and enjoy yourself.”
“That’s what I want to do.”
There was something in her tone which made Shaw look at her sharply. She hadn’t seemed quite herself all the evening, now he came to think about it. Of course, she must still be suffering from the shock of that terrible night in France. He felt a rush of sympathy for the girl, and he reached out across the table and took her hand. He asked gently, “Judith, what is it?”
She looked at him quickly and then turned her face away. She said, “Oh, nothing.” Then she added, “It’ll all be over soon — all this.”
He started. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. But let’s just pretend this is an ordinary voyage, just for this evening, anyway.”
“I didn’t mean anything special except what I said — that the voyage’ll soon be over.” She pushed at her coffee cup on the starched white cloth, kept her eyes down. “That’s all. And it’s you who’s on duty all the time — it’s you who needs to relax. Not me.”
He said, “Now, that’s not fair and you know it. I happen to feel that my job’s pretty important. If things don’t work out right, all this may be over soon. Literally.”
She stubbed out her cigarette fiercely, didn’t look at him. She said, “Oh, I know you’re right, of course I do. But why keep on about it?”
“Because — if you must know — there may not be many days left now. Next stop Fremantle, don’t forget. Nearly journey’s end. Time really is running out.”
“Then for God’s sake why not let’s do as you said and enjoy ourselves?” There was a catch in her voice, and a hint of hysteria.
Shaw said, “That’s exactly what I meant to do this evening, my dear. Doesn’t seem to have turned out that way, though, does it?”
She smiled at him then, but he caught a glitter of tears in her eyes. She said softly, “I’m sorry.” She reached out impulsively for his hand, and he had the feeling that her gesture was symbolic, that she was reaching out for something else and didn’t know quite how far she ought to go, or even just how she ought to go about it. He finished his brandy, said abruptly:
“Come on, Judith. Let’s go out on deck.”
“All right.”
She got up; there was a seductive frou-frou of material, and for the first time he realized she’d made a special effort with her appearance to-night. She was, in fact, disturbingly attractive and desirable. He took her arm, and they went out, away from the peculiar tang of the air-conditioning and out into the velvety clutch of the warm, soft tropic night. There was a pleasant breeze made by the ship’s movement as they walked over to the starboard rail and leaned against it; there was a dance going on below and the boat deck was almost deserted. They stared down into the dark water swishing past the liner’s hull so far below, the hull which dipped almost imperceptibly to a gentle deep-sea swell. Music drifted up. His arm went round her shoulder and he felt her body stiffen momentarily. They remained very still for a long time; Shaw could feel the beat of her heart against his side, and he felt the blood thrusting through his veins, pumping in his temples. His mouth tightened; here they were, aboard a luxury liner out at sea, in a small isolated world of unreality where no one else knew them or their affairs, or the pattern of their shore-side lives, a world which, as Judith had said at dinner, would vanish when the New South Wales raised Sydney Heads and came up the harbour of Port Jackson to turn beyond the bridge into the Pyrmont berths. A world in which, when that happened, all that had gone before would be forgotten, and whatever he and this girl might do in the secrecy of an Indian Ocean night would be forgotten with it as soon as they returned to day-by-day normality and picked up the ordinary threads of life again. If ever they did.
And Shaw knew, up there on the boat deck, knew for certain from the pressure of the girl’s body against his own, that she wouldn’t deny him anything he asked of her tonight, or any other night.
Who would it hurt — who could it hurt? The girl herself, if they came out of this. He mustn’t do that.
Shaw released her, stood back, said quietly: “Judith, let’s go down. Let’s dance.” His voice sounded forced, distrait; and she didn’t move. He said awkwardly, “You like dancing, don’t you? Come on.”
She still didn’t move and she didn’t answer; she remained leaning over the rail. He repeated, “Come on.”
She turned then, and he saw the sparkle of tears, a very slight tremble of her lips. Then, suddenly, she was in his arms, her head on his shoulder, and she was shaken with sobs. He rumpled her hair, held her very close and tight, but could find no words in that moment. They both knew… and then, just as suddenly, she pushed away from him. She turned and went quickly aft to the companionway and down to the veranda deck. Shaw didn’t follow her. He stayed where he was, puzzled and unhappy, looking out over the sea under the low-swinging Southern Cross which hung like a pattern of lamps to light the way for this great ship which vibrated beneath him… in spite of everything it was still good to be back aboard a ship, at sea again, after all these years. To feel the wind on your face once more and the surge of the sea for music in your ears, and the lift of a deck beneath your feet again… after a while Shaw lost himself in a nostalgic remembrance of the past, of the war days when he’d been an ordinary junior watchkeeper in a destroyer rolling her guts out in the North Atlantic and enjoying, so far as his stomach condition had allowed him, calm and storm, sunlight and shadow and clear blue days…
It may have been simply the fact that he had been thinking back to the War which made him listen, as he pulled himself together and turned away from the rail at last, to a distant throbbing, a very far-off regular beat of what sounded like engines.
He walked aft, stared up into the sky. The sound seemed to be up there. Aircraft engines passing… drum-drum, drum-drum. He could see no navigation lights. Of course, these days, they mostly went too fast for the eye to follow, but this didn’t sound all that fast — it was more like an old-fashioned propeller job. However, some less up-to-date airlines than B.O.A.C. and Qantas no doubt sent their flights over here.
Shaw yawned, clattered down the ladder, went below to his stateroom and turned in. The throb overhead, strangely enough, went on and on and it seemed to be circling the New South Wales so far below.
Partly because he was troubled by thoughts of Judith and partly because his subconscious was telling him that those aircraft sounds hadn’t been altogether normal, Shaw had half an eye open. So, when two hours later the phone buzzed beside his bunk, he was wide awake on the instant.
He grabbed the handset. “Shaw here.”
The Captain’s voice came through, abrupt and worried. “Sorry to wake you — but I’d like you to come up to the bridge right away.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Shaw threw his clothes on quickly and went up top.
As he went across the deserted boat deck, where the lifeboats, triced up high to the davit-heads, stood out sharply in the hard moonlight, he heard the same throb of engines that he had heard earlier. So far as he could judge, the plane was somewhere astern; and then, as he reached the foot of the ladder leading up to the bridge, it sounded as though it was turning to come down the liner’s port side, though still a long way off.
It was an eerie, flesh-creeping sound now, that distant throb in the otherwise silent night.
Sir Donald, a blue uniform jacket over his pyjamas, met him at the head of the ladder, asked: “Hear that, Shaw?”